In Any Language
by drown.in.flames
Summary: The world's countries are suffering through a crisis, are these their last words? -story better than summary-


**In Any Language**

Alfred F. Jones, the United States of America, looked over the nations present at the World Conference. Everyone was staring back at him, grim expressions taking over their faces. Even Italy, the cheery Feliciano Vargas, could not force himself to smile. The world was in disarray, disasters popping up and spreading. They had thought that the earthquake in Haiti was the worse they'd ever see… they were wrong. So very, very wrong.

Alfred cleared his throat and stood up from his seat.

"We're… We're all here today to discuss the… status… of the world as it is in our nations," he said.

On a normal day the others would be shocked at Alfred's seriousness and loss of conceited attitude. But it was not a normal day, not a normal year.

"I…," he started, but then changed his mind. "England? Will you… start the meeting?"

The older nation nodded and stood at the front of the room as Alfred sat back down. England or officially the United Kingdom, Arthur Kirkland, was silent for a moment. His bushy eyebrows were furrowed as he took in the appearances of the world's countries.

"The United Kingdom is fairing… well… considering the state of the rest of the world. Oil has run out completely, as to be expected. But that is the only… major disaster to strike so far."

"Thank you, Arthur," Alfred murmured.

China, Wang Yao, took the stand. The Asian nation had shrunken several inches since the last meeting, signifying the secession of much of his country. He had bandages placed randomly, remnants of foreign attack.

"The barbarian attacks have calmed down quite a bit, aru," he mumbled, and then sat back down.

Japan, Honda Kiku, stood up. He didn't speak, but he didn't have to. Earthquakes had torn his island nation apart, and soon no one would be left. Every country knew that this might very well be the last time they saw Japan. The other Asian nations had nothing to report, just the same poverty and death as everyone else.

Ludwig, Germany, stood next.

"Our people have been aiding the other nations with disaster relief, as you know. We will continue to do so."

The other countries looked shocked, expecting Germany to withdraw its money and effort in foreign aide.

"Consider it… payment."

Italy jumped up. He was uncharacteristically solemn, still mourning the loss of his brother. When North and South Italy united completely, Romano had stayed. But Southern Italy had gone through fire and flood, and had all but vanished. Lovino Vargas died with his people, but Feliciano had to stay alive.

"Now that… Romano's gone… Italy is… different. The people aren't… they aren't the same. But the floods and fires have ended for now."

Francis Bonnefoy stood.

"The strikes have left France inoperable and at a stand still. Riots have started in Paris, but there's nothing we can do. The citizens are upset, in poverty, and it's too late to turn back. There is not a single bank open, barely any food, and unemployment is up to 70%. You had a Great Depression, America. But this is far worse."

Alfred nodded in understanding. His brother Matthew, who represented Canada, spoke next. Matthew's wayward curl had vanished from his head following Quebec's leaving the country. He looked very bare without it.

"Canada is prepared to aid its allies," was all he said.

Ivan Braginski, the massive Russian, clambered up to standing position. His scarf was tattered and blood stained, his beloved pipe covered in not-rust and his face sullen. His sisters, Natalia and Katyusha, had dissolved not a month before, and he was grieving through anger. Their countries of Belarus and Ukraine were icy wastelands now, uninhabited.

"Endless winter plagues my country. Without fuel we're all suffering frostbite and freezing in our beds at night. This cannot go on. Da, I fear Russians will be gone soon."  
The sharing of grim tales of home continued on. The Nordics were drowning, the Baltics already gone. The entirety of South and Central America suffered a grueling heat wave. Spain's economy was dying. Poland did not talk in his valley accent; he hadn't spoken since Lithuania died. It seemed that each country fared worse than the last.

A tall, thin man in glasses stood. He wore a dark indigo tie over his white dress shirt and black dress shoes with his slacks.

"Austria is dealing with its starving poor, and trying to rebuild the shattered economy. Our ally, Switzerland," he said while nodding at the mentioned nation, "has offered refuge for those who wish to leave. We are getting better."

This was the only slightly positive news of the day since England's "fairly well" report. As soon as he was done speaking, the door to the conference room opened. A brown haired woman limped in, relying heavily on crutches. Her right leg was covered in stained red bandages, fresh blood still seeping in. Her face was covered in small scratches, and her left ankle was sprained. The small flowers in her hair were wilting, and the light had left her green eyes. She managed to get to her seat beside Austria, where she met the eyes of the other nations.

"The invasion has been stopped," she said. "But so many lives…"

Roderich grasped her hand from his place beside her. With his other he wiped the tear that was streaming down her cheek.

"Most of the people left are young women and children. The soldiers… they're not coming home."

She sat then, knowing she'd collapse into sobs if she didn't. Elizaveta Héderváry, the personification of Hungary, refused to show weakness. She would get through this, she told herself. Austria traced patterns into the palm of her hand with his thumb, trying to comfort her.

"We'll help you, Elizaveta. I promise," he whispered.

"You-you can't. Your nation needs you, Roderich. You can't just abandon your people for me."

The meeting had continued without them, and they snapped back to attention.

At lunch, no one left their seats. Quiet conversations started, but most remained silent. Alfred stood.

"Since we're not leaving… I guess it's my turn. America… my nation… me. Where can I even begin?" he said. "The economy was terrible before, with the War on Terror and other spending sprees. Our country was ceasing to represent the free man, and becoming the paradise for the rich business. No one could really get out of the shadow of 9/11 and we let it rule our lives. Now our government is tyrannical where it still exists, and anarchy is growing. Crime rates are up, unemployment is up, and I can't do anything about it. Oil is gone and people can't get to work. Schools have shut down because they never got the funding to run. The youth is wallowing in drugs and alcohol, with nothing to have taught them right from wrong. We are- I am not the land of the free, nor am I the home of the brave. I am the land of the delinquent, the home of the corrupt."

Arthur made to speak, but Alfred ignored his protest.

"And I pray to the Heavens everyday, not knowing if I believe that a God exists. I hope and I wish and I will it with all my might. I just want my people back. The brave soldiers who will fight to the death and the government who will do anything so that they don't have to. I want the children with bright eyes sitting in desks and on colored carpets, smiling and reading Dr. Seuss. I want the California beaches to sparkle in the sunlight; I want New York City alight with life. And I know I can't have it, and that makes me want it so much more."

When the Crisis ended, the countries that were left wished it wasn't. They would suffer through a thousand more just to never see the empty seats at the Summits again.

Roderich Edelstein knelt in front of a grave. It rested upon a grassy hill, surrounded by flowers. The crest of Hungary was engraved on it, homage to the body buried at the site. _Elizaveta Héderváry_, the inscription read, _Magyar Köztársaság_. Underneath her name and nation, the motto was printed. _Cum deo pro Patria et Libertate_. Roderich placed his single flower on the freshly packed dirt and sat in front of the tombstone.

All around the graveyard, nations mourned their fallen comrades. The World Crisis of 2068 had left so many people broken, countries included. Though most nations made it through, seven countries and one continent were destroyed, not including the five that had already dissolved before the official Crisis. Their territories were for the most part left untouched, but people moved into them and set up small towns on occasion.

Canada, England and France gathered around a single grave, one that showed an eagle surrounded by stripes and stars. The United States of America's gravesite. The final resting place of the once superpowerful democratic experiment. The savior of nations, the freedom fighter, the hero… gone. The American economy could not hold, and nothing held the states together. They split, and as individuals could not last long. The American people died out, their beliefs still held closely in hearts around the world. Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness… what was wrong with that? How could a nation founded upon freedom fail so severely? No one knew, but America was indeed gone. And his 'brothers' knew they'd forever feel the pain of the loss of him. _In God We Trust_, it read. The irony of Alfred's last Summit reort was not lost. In smaller letters, _E pluribus unum_ was written to commemorate the diversity of the ex-nation.

Italy stood beside two graves, both sharing one headstone. He grasped Germany's hand tightly, not daring to let go for fear that he too would disappear. Spain had been buried beside South Italy, tribute to their never-admitted love. Italy placed a tomato between them, knowing that this was better than the cliché flower.

The Asian nations stood around Japan and Taiwan's graves. Russia sat surrounded by his sisters' and the Baltic Nations'. Other nations stood by loved ones and wept, and for once they were all just _people_. Not allies and enimies. Not nations. Just _people_, people who had lost someone they loved.

Austria kissed the top of Hungary's grave.

"In jeder Sprache, in jedem Ort, auch im Tode, ich liebe dich," he whispered into the cold stone.

**Translations:**

_Magyar Köztársaság_- Republic of Hungary (Hungarian)

_Cum deo pro Patria et Libertate_- With the help of God for Homeland and Freedom (Latin, Hungarian motto)

_E pluribus unum_- Out of many, one (Latin, USA traditional motto)

_In jeder Sprache, in jedem Ort, auch im Tode, ich liebe dich_- In each language, in each place, also in death, I love you. (German) **{I wanted "In every language, in every place, even in death, I love you," but this was close enough}**

**Countries that died:**

**Hungary  
Spain  
Netherlands  
Belgium  
Japan  
Taiwan  
USA  
All of South America**

**Died before story taking place:  
Belarus  
Ukraine  
Latvia  
Estonia  
Lithuania**


End file.
